just put your skin, baby, on my skin
by wrappedinrosegold
Summary: Michonne realized with a sudden, thrilling clarity that she was only just beginning to learn all of the things Rick's hands could do to and with her. A 6x10 vignette from Michonne's POV. Title from Rihanna's song 'Skin'.


Michonne had thought she had experienced Rick's hands in every way possible after all this time.

She had watched those hands expertly handle firearms and knives, how his long, slender fingers could flex and curl around the weapons as if they were an extension of him, of his desire to protect what was his by whatever means and force necessary.

She had seen them dig in the dirt to plant seeds in a prison garden in an effort to provide a more sheltered life for his son, a prison garden that had likely long been trampled by the dead and wilted by the scorching Georgia sun.

She had noticed how his hand twitched slightly when he was anticipating action, and then how steady it was once another battle had started for their very existence.

They could be equally fast and efficient in setting up a snare in the woods, landing a punch to some who deserved it and some who didn't, hammering nails into wooden planks to keep the windows and doors shut from the horrors that walked their world.

They could be exceedingly delicate when he grasped the hand of one of the members of their dwindling and growing family, when effortlessly building a fire to keep said family warm, when he cradled Judith's head with a large palm, his thumb gently brushing her cheek to give her comfort.

She had seen the wedding ring glinting on the fourth finger of his left hand from the moment they had met, one that was conspicuously missing as his fingers entangled in her thick hair now.

From the moment their hands had instinctively linked together, the sacred mints between them as they had sat next to one another on their couch, Michonne realized with a sudden, thrilling clarity that she was only just beginning to learn all of the things Rick's hands could do to and with her.

His rough palms learned exactly the amount of faint pressure to exert to make her body respond. His fingertips traced the lines and curves of what seemed like every inch of her to make her moan, loud enough that he had to drag one of his hands reluctantly away from its appointed task to teasingly brush a finger against her lips in a half-hearted attempt to keep her volume from increasing. His fingers were effortless in their ability to brush her erogenous zones and caress her sensitive skin and slip inside of her to create sensations that drove her crazy and yet pulled everything into sharp, sinful focus.

No other man had ever managed to touch her in the way he had.

Because he could touch her mind, her body, and her soul with just a brush of his fingers against her skin.

He didn't have to try. He didn't have to ask her what she wanted or try to talk and make her spell anything out for him.

Rick knew her so intensely, so innately, and now so intimately, and she could almost feel his hands memorize her entire body as they made another pass.

Her teeth dragged across his lips as they stumbled upstairs, unable to keep their hands off of each other long enough to steady themselves on the banister or the wall. Somewhere along the way, as she backed up the stairs, he had lifted her underneath her thighs and carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom, leaving her breathless and impatient and yet wanting to draw out this moment, their first time together until this day, this world, and this life disappeared into the depths of his blue eyes.

Until it was just them, just Rick and Michonne.

He had picked up on her increasing desire and she could tell by his tightening grip on her hips that he was there too, in sync with her in the way they always were, whether it was in a prison, a church or a gated community, whether it was in a fight or a rare moment of peace, whether it was on a run or safely within the confines of the new place they were attempted to call, and make a home.

But as he traced the curves of her backside and her upper thigh with still wandering hands, he stilled for a brief moment, and his lips began slowing making their way down her neck, her chest, her abdomen, and lower until it was gently pressing against her outer thigh, a tentative kiss that felt like one of apology instead of ardor.

Michonne opened her hooded eyes with effort, trying to ignore the heat that his mouth was spreading to her skin, trying to see past Rick's damp hair to what had him so preoccupied.

Then another memory came to mind involving Rick's hands, when they had first met, when his fingers had roughly pressed into a fresh gunshot wound, one that had left a scar where Rick's lips were locked now.

A scar from a lifetime ago, from a woman who had been alive but not living a lifetime ago, when Rick's calloused hands and distrusting voice and wary gaze had been unfamiliar.

A lifetime ago.

She wanted to live in this moment, in this life, with this family she had found, with this man with whom she wanted to share a family, with this man who had become as familiar to her as breathing.

So Michonne gently tugged on Rick's dark curls and brought him up so she was looking into the eyes she felt she could read like a well-worn novel, and her hands fell to his jaw, massaging until the tension left his jaw and until he was looking at her with nothing but tenderness and passion, acknowledging her acceptance of the apology she hadn't asked for.

His lips and hands made his way back down her body, lower and less unsure, and she once again succumbed to the newness and yet familiarity of Rick's touch, of experiencing something new with someone who was already such a huge part of her.

Their bodies intertwined more times than she could count that first night, but it was the linking of their hands in the throes of their final thrusts that solidified the wordless connection that had sparked so fervently on the couch earlier that evening.

He squeezed her hand, and she gripped it firmly back, marveling at how well her smaller palm fit with his, at how perfectly she and Rick Grimes fit together.


End file.
